After Jackson Pollock Grayed Rainbow, 1953
We sit, Susie and I in the desert darkness above the deep canyon. A warm breeze carries
with it datura, sage and creosote; we breathe a faint promise of rain tomorrow, but above us it is
still clear. One solitary star becomes several, then many, then the sky opens. No moon tonight,
but none is needed. The Milky Way freeze frame dance unfolding belies the constant movement
in astral measure as surely as these solid mountains fall and are consumed by the river flowing
below. We watch for shooting stars and satellites, for dark fighter bombers on fail safe runs
toward the East. When we listen beyond the surface noise we hear the grating of tectonic plates.
Art Institute of Chicago 1 -2-3-4
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